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July 27, 2019
What do I make of this? Light wraps around, holds me in view, seems to peer into my face, as I take the letter and hold it up. My eyes read the words written but I am too conscious of being observed; I cannot grasp their meaning. The paper is aged and fragile, a true artefact; I can almost see the makers fingerprints in the textured imperfections and other prints, possibly from an author or reader, in the stained ovals along the edges where the page would be held. Embedded in the broken wax seal, I see a partial thumbprint.